


I Don’t Want Him Here Anymore Than You Do (I Want Him To Myself)

by Pen99



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 4th Year Sherlock, 5th Year John, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Gorgeous, Gryffindor John, M/M, Popular, Potterlock, Slytherin Sherlock, but insufferable Sherlock, but secretive John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pen99/pseuds/Pen99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” John interrupted. “Do you stare down all your lab partners?”<br/>A thousand snarky phrases streamed though his mind, but Sherlock decided to go with the most honest.<br/>“No.” Sherlock paused. “Just the ones that interest me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Git, Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP that has been on my PC for a couple months, but I haven't gotten around to publishing. The narrative jumps around a bit. It's going to start with them meeting, but transition from dislike and curiosity to friendship rather quickly. It's not going to be an epic story or anything, just a few K. I hope you enjoy! -Pen99

“That git.” Mikes Stamford’s eyes glazed over. “That snobbish, insufferable, smart-ass.”

He reached out his arms and Sarah Sawyer slumped forward, sobbing on his shoulder. Mike shot John a deviant smile and began stroking Sarah’s silky brown hair. John rolled his eyes, blatantly unimpressed. Leave it to Mike to use vulnerably as a way to get into her pants.

John cleared his throat and reached for Sarah’s hand. Mike scowled at him, but John did not let go. He was interested in Sarah too, but he knew better than to seduce her when she was distraught.

“So what exactly,” John asked. “Did this…git….do again?”

 Sarah’s cheeks flushed.

“Last week professor Sprout assigned partners for mandrakes.” She hiccupped. “That boy, Sherlock Holmes, didn’t have a partner. I’ve heard what everybody says about him, but I felt bad you know? I thought he was a poor bloke in need of a friend.”

She waited for validation of her kindness, and Mike did not disappoint.

“Of course.” He oozed. “You’ve got that kind of heart.”

Sarah let go of John’s hand and wrapped her arms around Mike’s neck.

“You’re too sweet.” Sarah cried, glancing back at John. “Both of you.”

“So, he didn’t want to work with you?” John guessed.

Sarah shook her head.

“Oh no, he did. Best in the class professor Sprout said. We were done potting all of them before the rest of the class had finished their first.” Sarah flushed. “He’s a weird bloke, that Sherlock Holmes. Didn’t say much, but he wasn’t like everyone said…not during the lesson anyway.”

Sarah broke out in another wave of sobs, John wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“But he’s a bastard.” She muttered. “I lingered after herbology , hoping to strike a conversation.  I told him about the hogsmeade trip coming up, asked him if he fancied going with me.”

“Did you, now?” Mike grumbled, cheeks reddening with jealousy. “I mean, did he?” 

“He called me... mundane.” Sarah whimpered. “Right to my face. He said he didn’t fancy spending time with someone so simple. That I’d have a better chance chasing someone interested in getting in my skirt. He told me that all I wanted was to feel pretty.”

“How awful.” John commented. “Doesn’t seem like a nice bloke, does he?”

“No, John.” Sarah huffed. “Obviously not.”

Mike shot John a murderous glare.

“He’s an arse.” Mike cooed. “You’re gorgeous, and fun, and way better than he’ll ever be.  You’re much more popular than Sherlock Holmes. People like you. You sexy, and—”

“A good person.” John cut in.

Sarah gave John a smile of pity before making her way to the girl’s dormitories.

“Thank you boys so much.” She called. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 When Sarah had climbed the stairs and was out of sight, Mike slapped his arm.

“Smooth.” He mocked. “ _A good person_ , what the hell was that.”

John did his best interpretation of Mike.

“Oh you’re a pretty girl.” He cooed. “A sexy girl. Come here and I’ll have you right now. We’ll show Sherlock Holmes what he’s missing.”

Mike shrugged.

“Whatever works, right?” 

John winkled his nose.

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” John asked.

“A real pervert that is going to shag Sarah Sawyer before the end of the month.”

“Whatever mate,” John sighed. “Just be careful. Sarah’s our friend. I don’t want things to get out of hand.”

“Don’t worry Three House Watson.” Mike mocked. “You’ll get the girl eventually. Maybe after I’m done.”

John balled his fists in rage. He hated when Mike talked about his friends as if they were objects. He hated it even more when he used his stupid pet name. Contrary to popular belief, John had not slept with three girls from three separate houses in one night. He hadn’t even slept with more than two girls in his entire life. He’d drunkenly snogged a hufflepuff girl after the final quidditch match last year, and somehow a rumor escalated from there. 

John took a hard shot at Mike’s arm and leapt out of his chair.

“You’re disgusting.” John called over his shoulder.

Before he reached the door to the boy’s dorms, Mike called after him.

“Oh go sulk John, but remember, I know where you sleep.”

John was still angry, but he couldn’t help but grin. His friend was a complete bastard, but at least he was entertaining. That was more than he could say for Sarah Sawyer.


	2. Like house-elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's crazy short, but I plan on having a little bit up every day. Some are a 100 words, others are 500. Enjoy!

John climbed to the top of a marble platform, overlooking a sea of first years. Gregory Lestrade followed suit, accepting John’s hand as he pushed upward.

“We were never this small, were we?” John asked Greg absentmindedly. “They look like house-elves.”

Lestrade subdued a laugh.

“Have you looked at yourself mate? You’re not exactly a giant.”

“Just give me two years,” John grumbled. “You’ve got an advantage, being in seventh year. I’m sixteen, there’s still time.”

“Sure Watson, keep telling yourself that. Though I have to say, you’re the nimblest beater Gryffindor has ever seen.”

John’s eyes lit up. He had hoped for a moment to talk to Greg alone, but one hadn't yet presented itself. With the captain of last year’s team graduated, Lestrade was next in line. The two of them were friends, and John didn’t want to exploit that, but a nagging part of him needed to be sure.

“So I’m in this season then.” John asked hopefully. “I could get used to you being captain.”

John gave Lestrade a wide grin, and the older boy playfully pushed away his face.

“Stuff it Watson.” He sighed. “I’m not saying that you’ll defiantly have a spot on the team.”

“But you’re not not saying that, are you?”

 “You’re bloody brilliant with that bat in your hands.” Lestrade paused for a moment. “That’s all I’m saying.”

John was satisfied with that answer. He clapped Lestrade on the back and made his way back into the crowd. With a quick glance at his timetables, John made his way to the dungeons. Potions with the Slytherins was not his favorite period, but his conversation with Lestrade had cheered him up significantly.  


	3. No Matter the Technique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! I almost suffered heat exhaustion at work today, so I'm taking it slow and giving you guys another chapter. Yay!

As usual, the youngest Holmes boy’s cold eyes were plastered to the back of the sandy Gryffindor’s head. Sherlock sat in the dim light of the dungeon, listening to the potions master drone on about antidotes, while the rest of the class scratched their quills in unison. Sherlock had demanded to be placed in a more advanced potions, but all the department had managed was to bump him up a year. He was an excellent chemist and brilliant when it came to potion brewing. Sherlock Holmes did not doubt that he was more familiar with the subject than the professor.

He sniggered. Potions _master_ , how ironic.  

Although Sherlock resented his required presence, he made use of his time. Sherlock used the drawl hour to analyze and deduce, to keep his skills sharp. He had started with the obvious of course; Sally Donovan and Mike Stamford were almost too easy. Sally was overly aggressive, especially for a Gryffindor. She was brave, but spiteful, probably something to do with her father. No, he decided. Definitely indignant of her mother.  If possible, Mike was easier. Sex crazed and insecure, Sherlock decided. He liked to be the most experienced in the room, and was always the one to get the last word.

His deductions continued for a week before Sherlock had gotten stuck.

He was almost ready to brush over John Watson. A people pleaser, defiantly. A nurturer for sure. But there was something else. Something Sherlock could not quite place.

And so the pattern began. Sherlock would arrive in potions and spend the hour burning holes in the back of the Watson boy’s neck. Surely the fifth year had acknowledged Sherlock’s attention, but he did not address it. This left Sherlock more stuck than before. From what he deduced, John Watson did not shy away from his problems.

He approached things straight on, and yet, another day passed without a word.

Sherlock was getting antsy. He wanted to know why he could not properly deduce John Watson. Could Sherlock be over analyzing the situation? This boy was no doubt as mundane as the others. Why did he deserve the special interest of Sherlock Holmes?

The potions master announced that the class would have time for the practical part of the lesson. They were to pair up and create a wiggenweld potion, an antidote for magically induced sleep. Sherlock let out a bored yawn; he had created this exact potion hundreds of times.

Why not make it interesting, Sherlock wondered. No matter the technique, the potion would be the same, but the partner however… He shot up quickly and made his way over to John Watson’s desk.

“Move.” He instructed Mike. “Now.”

The heavy boy shot him a look of pure loathing. There was a hint of jealousy in his eyes.  If Sherlock had to guess, and nothing was a guess with Sherlock Holmes, either he or someone he was attracted to fancied Sherlock’s looks. Sherlock Holmes was indeed very attractive, few could deny. His beauty was heavily ignored due to his audacious personality. Not that this bothered him, Sherlock Holmes did not engage in something as trivial as dating.

“Did you not hear correctly?” Sherlock asked rudely. “I said move.”

“And if you would have been listening,” Mike spat “instead of retreating into that indignant head of yours, you would have heard me say no.”

Mike stood up, looking ready to knock in Sherlock’s teeth. Sherlock grinned internally; he would have liked to see the boy try.

“It’s alright, Mike.” John whispered, avoiding Sherlock’s stare. “Partner with Donovan, it isn’t worth it.”

 _Isn’t worth it_ , Sherlock replayed cautiously. Did this small boy dismiss Sherlock Holmes as _not worth it_.

Mike gave Sherlock another murderous glare, and then clambered to the other side of the room. Sherlock took his place and turned to face the small Gryffindor. This was the closest Sherlock had ever been to him. Deductions filled the empty space.

Sherlock made an inward sigh. Finally, some answers.

“So,” John brashly interrupted. “Do you stare down all your lab partners?”

It took a moment for Sherlock to formulate a reply. A thousand snarky phrases streamed though his mind, but Sherlock decided to go with the most honest.

“No.” Sherlock paused. “Just the ones that interest me.”


	4. The Very Definition of a Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned for this chapter to become the one that skips forward to months into their friendship, but I wanted to add more background. Enjoy!

Once again, John Watson was aware of the self entitled boys’ gaze. After Sherlock made no attempt to recapture his attention, John excused himself to gather ingredients. Crossing the room, John shrugged at the gaping looks the Gryffindors sent him. After placing the ingredients at their desk, John paused, waiting to be instructed. If he knew one thing about Sherlock Holmes, it was that the younger boy did not do partnerships. To John’s surprise, Sherlock made no comment.

 The instruction John had been expecting came twenty minutes later.

“I was under the impression,” Sherlock barked.  “that this exercise was intended  to coax the consumer out of slumber, not into a permanently comatose state.” 

John’s hand slipped as a few more lion fish spines that the potion called for fell into the cauldron. Sherlock heaved a sigh of annoyance.

“Now I’m inclined to believe your failure to comply with the recipe was intentional. It would be quite a feat to be this dreadful at concocting such a simple potion. One must only—”

“You do it then.” John interrupted, sliding the remaining ingredients towards the Slytherin. “Obviously the great Sherlock Holmes has attempted much more advanced magic.”

“Attempted? I do not simply attempt anything.” Sherlock mumbled displeased. “I take your surrender of command and _sequent_ mocking of my skills to mean you have herd of me.”

John grunts. There wasn’t a soul in the entire school that wasn’t aware of Sherlock bloody Homes. Not wanting to feed into his mountain of an ego, John ignored his previous statement.

“Are you going to get on with it?”

Sherlock cast him a disapproving look before tapping the tip of his wand to the cauldron. What was once a bubbling mess of purple and vibrant green, was now an emptied shell. It took a moment for John to realize what Sherlock had done.

“What the hell was that for?” John spat. “The recipe calls for Salamander blood, not to empty the ruddy cauldron.”

“Flobberworm mucus, John.” Sherlock yawned. “It distinctly calls for flobberworm mucus. Your inattention has allowed the allotted five lion fish spines to become twelve. You have relinquished command, and I have executed the only option at my disposal. If you had wished to continue on with this monstrosity, perhaps you should have considered that before stepping aside.”

The tips of his ears went immediately red. John could not decide whether it was from rage or embarrassment.

“Who do you think you are?” John hissed through clenched teeth. “You spend weeks silently plotting my murder from the back of the room,”

John immediately lowered his voice. Just because he was aware of the younger boys’ attention did not mean he wanted to make it public knowledge.

“and out of the blue you decide to dismiss my mate and criticize my technique. I want to know why.”

A flash of recognition passed over Sherlock’s face before he pulled it back into a bored grimace.

“You did notice then. My deduction was correct.”

“What?”

“You were aware of my interest in you.”

“Of course I bloody well noticed.” John huffed. “Some bloke eyeing me up from the back of the Dungeons, I’m surprised others haven’t.”

Sherlock knit his brows together.

“Is that something you care about?” He asked curious. “Other’s knowing?”

“There isn’t anything to know.” John whispered back. “You make it seem like the two of us have been harboring some big dirty secret.”

“But haven’t we though?”

“This the first time I have spoken to you. How could we possibly be harboring a secret?”

 Sherlock considered this.

“The two of us were exclusively aware of my attention for the weeks prior. You appear to take offence to others obtaining this information.”

Sherlock paused before adding smugly.

“That John is the very definition of a secret.”


	5. Make the Git Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! No real excuse, just kind of got sucked into summer. Enjoy!

-ONE MONTH LATER-

The Gryffindors gathered around the grassy pitch, broomsticks in hand. Mike stood next to John, playfully jabbing the tip of his broom into the back of John’s right knee. Before John could tell him to bugger off, Lestrade blew his whistle.

“Alright guys, listen up.” He shot an irritated glace towards the pair of them. “We have the pitch until noon, which leaves us plenty of time to run drills for next week’s game against Hufflepuff. As you’ve probably heard, they got a new seeker.  This, by no means—”

Lestrade was cut off by a rude grunt. Sally Donovan raised her arm and pointed to a spot on the stands somewhere behind John. 

“What’s the freak doing here?” She asked, the rest of the Gryffindor team swiveling around.

A line of panic filled John’s chest. He was almost certain to which particular _freak_ Sally was referring, but he turned anyway.  Sure enough, Sherlock Holmes lay sprawled across a bench, a small book clutched in his hands.  His green robes rustled as he lifted his moppy black head. Seemingly unconcerned with the attention the team was giving him, his eyes locked on John.

“Oi!” Lestrade called. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sherlock showed no signs that he heard the captain. He continued to stare pointedly at John.   

 “Trying to spy on our plays no doubt,” Sally seethed. “Damn Slytherins.”

The team shifted uncomfortably.

“What do you want to do?” Their seeker, Sarah Sawyer muttered. “Should we ask him to leave?”

Donovan scowled and John bit back a laugh. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be persuaded into doing anything he didn’t want to. And, for whatever reason, he wanted was to watch the practice.

“I’m going over.” Sally announced, rolling up her sleeves. “I’m going to make the git leave.”

John wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to be singled out. He was sure Sherlock was here for him, the only question was why. Lestrade caught John from the corner of his eye, but thankfully did not make any remarks. Lestrade put his hand to their beater’s shoulder and held her back.

“Let him be Sally.” The captain huffed. “I don’t want him here anymore than you do, but he’s allowed to watch if he likes. Besides, I don’t fancy my beater getting a row of detentions this close to our next game.”

Sally fought a snarl, but eventually conceded.

“Fine, doesn’t matter.” She muttered. “The other Slytherins won’t listen to him anyway. His house hates him as much as the rest of us. Who would have thought I’d pity the Slytherins?”

John balled his fists. A wave of anger shot over him, and he felt the urge to introduce his fist to sally’s face. It was ironic really, John thought. Less than a month ago John would be along with them, mocking the bloke for everything he’s got.

Now he felt… what did he feel? Angry? Yes, of course. But there was something else. Defensive was a better word.  Blimey, when had John become defensive of Sherlock Holmes?  

Lestrade shot him a look that clearly said _drop it_.

“Let’s not waste anymore time.” Lestrade addressed his team. “Do we want to destroy Hufflepuff or not?”

A sea of “yes’s” washed over the team. And Sarah topped it off with a “hear hear.”

“Alright then,” Lestrade grinned. “Let’s get flying.”


	6. Nutter, that one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I just moved into my dorm yesterday, so i'm not sure if this means more frequent or less frequent updates... Work is done, but school has just begun.

As the team retired to their respective locker rooms, John shot a glace towards Sherlock’s bench.  With a twinge of relief, John found that Sherlock was not longer present. John wasn’t one to be ashamed if his friends and he immediately felt guilty for wishing Sherlock gone. 

He caught himself.

Were Sherlock and he even friends? They certainly spent enough time together, but it was never in the presence of others. Sherlock never approached him or paid any attention to him in public, today being an exception.  John assumed that Sherlock preferred it that way, he found John’s friends trite. Still, he couldn’t help feel their private relationship was for his benefit. This made john feel worse.

John mulled in the hot water until he was the only boy remaining. It was nice to have time to think, amongst… other things. When he was finished, John wrapped a towel around his hips and pulled back the curtain. To his violent surprise, he found a boy sitting cross-legged on the bench a few meters away.     

“Christ.” John barked.

His towel slid down an inch as he reached backwards toward the wall.

“John.” Sherlock stated in greeting.

John mumbled for a second before regaining his composure.

“What are you doing here?” John asked, his surprise subsiding.  

“Here, at practice?” Sherlock yawned. “Or here in the locker rooms?”

“Both would be good.”

Sherlock sighed and licked his lips.

“Isn’t it obvious John?” Sherlock asked, “Yesterday you went into a fit about not keeping you informed. Today you obviously resent my presence. Don’t be so utterly mundane John. Don’t be like the others, unable to make up their petty minds. Shall I disregard your words for babbling, or am I permanently subject to your erratic behavior?”

“Sherlock,” John scowled. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“A case, John.” Sherlock’s eyes whizzed. “I’m talking about a case.”

“Now?” John asked, dropping his frustration.  Sherlock had been dragging him around for “cases” over the last month. A missing book here, a malicious spell there, nothing of real substance.

 “Yes now!”  Sherlock grinned. “Hurry up, I’ve already sat through that positively drawl activity you call quidditch. Not to mention that suspiciously long shower. Five more minuets and I would have dragged you out myself. ”

John blushed, but Sherlock did not seem to notice. A bundle of clean clothes John had packed sat on the bench next to Sherlock. He picked them up and thrust them in John’s direction.

“Here.” Sherlock commanded. “Put these on.”

John reached for his clothes and locked eyes with Sherlock. John cleared his throat, hoping Sherlock would take the hint. The younger boy, however, showed no intention of leaving.

“I need to change.” John stated plainly.

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed.

“Out of this towel and into these clothes.”

Sherlock tilted his head, utterly perplexed.

“Yes John.” He spoke as if John were an infant. “That would be the point of changing.”

Sherlock could not be serious, John through. No one could be that thick. John groaned internally, no one but Sherlock Holmes.

“Privacy, Sherlock.” John said at last. “I need privacy.”

John expected the younger boy to blush in return, but he did no such thing. He eyed John for a moment before turning his back and making his way for the door.

"Nutter, that one.” John whispered under his breath.

Still, he couldn't help but smile.


	7. Unmistakably Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm lonely tonight, so that means another chapter for you guys!

_Privacy,_ Sherlock noted as he tucked himself between two pillars outside the Gryffindor locker room.

John Watson valued privacy.

But why?

He could be uncomfortable with his body, Sherlock hypothesized.

Did John have some embarrassing mark or scar that he did not wish others to see? If so, why hide it? A scar, especially one that belonged to John Watson, would be a sign of strength, not weakness. No, John was not embarrassed of his markings.

Could it be possible John was uncomfortable displaying his body in front of other men, or perhaps one boy in particular.

Sherlock discarded the thought, chastising himself for focusing his energy on such a menial quandary. His case took president over the idiosyncrasies of his new partner.

None the less, Sherlock stored the information in his mind palace. John Watson’s file was getting quite large; perhaps it was time he was upgraded to a drawer.      

After three minutes of mind numbing silence, John Watson emerged freshly laundered.  Sherlock stood and strode vigorously into the corridor. John was at his heels, practically sprinting.

“So,” The Gryffindor mused. “What’s the case?”

Sherlock was vaguely aware of his chatter, but did not care to answer. Why waste his words when John would find out soon enough?

“Sherlock.” He demanded. “This is what I meant about keeping me informed.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Must this tiny boy disrupt his dear thoughts so very often? Could he not trust Sherlock’s genius and follow blindly?

Oh course not, Sherlock reminded himself. That is why he is here. John Watson is unmistakably different.

“Client: codename Athena.” Sherlock announced. “Chosen meeting spot: seemingly empty storage room in the dungeons. I am to assume she is a Slytherin, old money and pure-blood. The letter was sealed with a scarlet emblem. The kind used in the highest circles of the ministry. Safe to guess she has connections high along the—”

“Brilliant.” John gaped.

Sherlock grinned, quite pleased.

“John.” He feigned annoyance. “Do not disturb me when I am deducing. Your pathetic admiration interrupts my genius.”

“Oh, Piss off.” John shot. “Genius my arse.”

Sherlock chose to ignore the jab. He did not need verification of his intellectual capacity; he already knew his mind to be more powerful than any other.

Still, the admiration did not go unnoticed. He was perfectly aware of John’s growing obsession. Most found Sherlock too off-putting to recognize his overpowering intelligence. The few that did, Mycroft included, would never concede to it. John Watson was the first person to pay the tribute deserved to him. It might be annoying, and cause interruptions, but Sherlock was not going to deny the older boy his outbursts.


	8. John Wasn’t a Watch Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! I've been busy with my first year at college! Today some guy in my hall found out I was a fangirl and he had so many questions about fandom. I was super embarrassed to share, but it felt great to share with someone so interested!

Athena was not waiting for them in the dungeon storage, nor was she anywhere in sight. The room looked like it had not been used in ages, dust lining the shelves and every corner of the floor. Sherlock ordered John to take watch as he inspected the scene. John didn’t like being given orders, especially not by a lanky younger boy, but he stood outside anyway.

A couple minutes passed and John considered calling out to Sherlock. This was ridiculous, John wasn’t a watch dog.

**_Clank—_ **

 Around the corner, the sound of metal on stone tore through the air. Again, John considered grabbing Sherlock, but something held him back. He raced towards the sound and tore around the bend.

There, on its knees, was a whimpering house-elf. John was taken aback. He wasn’t unused to seeing the creatures shrivel, but still.

“Are you alright?” John asked tentatively.

The creature did not meet his eyes. John peered around and spotted the object it had dropped, a strange silver plate. He picked it up and held it out to the elf. It raised its head and John noticed the bored expression on its face. He was no Sherlock, but John got the sense something was not right. Seconds ago this creature had been whimpering. Now, it looked positively jaded. The creature reached for the plate, but grabbed John’s wrist instead.

Instantly he disapparated.


End file.
